


Little Darling

by sunshineflying



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is glad to have more time to spend with Bressie on the time leading up to One Direction's break -- so glad that it leads to a celebration that in the end, leads to a baby. The story of Niall having a baby with Bressie, complete with Nouis friendship, Tiny Tommo, insecure Niall, and a precious baby for Niall and Bressie to love forever and ever. (angst, fluff, mpreg, kid fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Darling

**Author's Note:**

> So, I thought I hadn't finished it but after chatting with Jen, who always feeds my Nessie mpreg mind, I realized that I HAD finished it, and it's just been sitting around in my WIP folder for no reason. So here we go.

As soon as Niall’s got a few spare moments, he’s picking up the phone and messaging Bressie, because he’s missed him terribly and needs to be around someone that reminds him of home as soon as possible. He’s just finished ten weeks in America and he’s grateful for his own bed, but he also wishes he could go back to Ireland, back to Mullingar, and just lounge about.

But he hasn’t got _that_ much free time, and he’s not particularly up to more traveling, so he stays put on his couch and lets Bressie know that he’s back in London for a bit, if he fancies coming over.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Bressie’s sitting there on Niall’s sofa, kicking back and watching rugby whilst Niall uses his lap as a pillow. Niall’s got his sore foot up, ice on it, but he’s more comfortable than he’s been in a while, sitting up once in a while to sip some beer and try to keep up with Bressie. Bressie had brought over a whole pile of alcohol, enough for the night, at least, and now they’re properly buzzed in the mid-afternoon, and Niall doesn’t feel so homesick anymore.

By the time game’s finished, Niall’s sitting up, abandoning the ice pack, and smiling up at Bressie. “I missed ya,” he confesses.

“Missed you too, chief,” Bressie beams.

Niall suddenly feels twice as drunk now that he’s properly sat up, the blood rushing and his eyesight going a bit wibbly. Bressie smiles fondly and raises an eyebrow. “Y’alright?” he asks.

Quickly, Niall nods, and then he confesses with a slight slur, “Sometimes I don’t want to go back out and do it, y’know? Like… I love it. I fuckin’ love it, Brez. But I’m so _tired_ all the time. And me foot. And me knee. I’m fallin’ apart, doin’ this.”

Bressie’s brow knots and he says, “Yeah, but you take care of yourself as best you can, and you’re about to get a break, and once that’s a month in, you’re going to wish you were out touring again.”

Niall swings a leg over, clambering up so he can straddle Bressie’s lap. He does it without thinking twice, and it feels so natural. He’s sat on his lap of course, that’s nothing new, but not like this. Not with his legs on either side Bressie’s hips, not with their bodies slotted together so tight. But it makes Niall feel better, and as he nods and says, “Yeah, I s’pose,” Bressie runs his hands up and down Niall’s back to try to relax him.

“Just don’t think too much about it,” Bressie suggests. “You and I both know people have days where they despise their jobs. Today just must be one of those for you.”

Niall lets out a breath and rests his arms on Bressie’s shoulders to steady himself. “Stop bein’ so fuckin’ smart,” Niall laughs, his nose bumping Bressie’s.

He can feel the way Brez is warm, relaxed, breathing steadily against his lips. He’s holding him and making him feel like everything is alright, keeping away the guilt he’d otherwise be feeling for deciding he hates his job that day. “Oi, I’ve got a brain in me sometimes,” Bressie laughs.

One of his hands slides up Niall’s back, warm and large, fingers splayed out to hold Niall in place. He doesn’t want him to go anywhere, if he’s being honest, but thankfully Niall is staying put, happy and calm against him.

And then Niall’s leaning in, kissing Bressie hard with determination. He brings a hand up to hold Bressie’s jaw, thumb rubbing over the stubble there before he slides his hand back, tangling his fingers in his dark hair.

It’s not surprising for Bressie, not really, because they’ve done this before and he fucking loves it. Niall’s a playful kisser, the way he plants little bites at his lips and how he leans up on his knees, pressing him against the back of the sofa because he’s so immersed into the kiss. Niall laughs and smiles when Bressie’s hands drift over just the right spot where he’s ticklish on his sides, and it’s perfect.

And it stays perfect when Bressie stands up without problem, and when he lays Niall down on his bed, and even when they cross over into new territory with wandering hands and the abandoning of their clothes. It’s perfect as Bressie takes his slow, sweet, torturous time fingering Niall open, and even more so as he presses in, centimeter at a time, watching Niall as he adjusts, his skin flushed and damp.

And if the rest of that felt perfect, it was nothing compared to the way Niall feels when they’re done, his tummy and arse both covered in come, some dripping out of him and down his thigh, making a mess on the blankets.

Suddenly, Niall feels like he’s home all over again, marked up by Bressie, cleaned up by him too, and then in the end, curled up in his arms for a nice nap.

It’s so perfect, he finds himself never wanting to return to tour, to his commitments, because he’d much rather stay penned up in his flat drinking beer and watching sports and grilling meals with Bressie, because it’s domestic and sweet and nice. It’s comfortable, and it’s most definitely home.

Sadly, though, Niall’s vacation is short-lived, and before he knows it he’s back to shows. At least they’re in the UK this time. It’s a relief for him, though he’d much rather keep lounging about with Bressie.

But Bressie’s got to get back to work too and Niall braces himself for the weeks to come. With the impending hiatus, he’s trying his best to put on a brave face and a big smile for all the fans, the ones who go to shows crying because they know this might be the last time they ever see them in concert.

He feels for them, he really does, but he’s more exhausted than usual once they get back out on tour, and by the last show in Sheffield, he’s ready to go home. He’s felt sick for days, and on and off he’d been vomiting, but that’s normal for him. Sometimes he worries too much, gets psyched out by the pressure.

Once the show’s done, he’s back in his flat and making no plans to go back out and do things. He wants to sleep it off, to get back to feeling normal and healthy as soon as he possibly can. Bressie rings him and invites him out to a Halloween do, a big costume party somewhere in the heart of London, but Niall begs out of it, says he’s feeling too ill to leave the house.

 The third time Niall does it in a week, though, is when Bressie puts his foot down. “Well, either get yourself to a doctor or get here, alright?” he says. “You not being well this long isn’t a good sign.”

“I just got off a big tour,” Niall argues.

“Please? Just see a doctor, Niall,” Bressie repeats. “For me?”

And fuck if those two words aren’t what has Niall caving and doing whatever Bressie wants. He’s a sucker for that guy, whether he’s comfortable admitting it yet or not. Niall sighs and bargains, “I’ve got an appointment for me foot on Monday. D’you think you can wait a couple days and let me bring it up then?”

It’s not Bressie’s first choice, but Niall’s sure it’s nothing and he’s probably right, and Bressie’s just being a worrier anyway, so he concedes, “Alright, fine. I want a full diagnosis once you’re done at the appointment, alright chief? Put this old man at ease.”

Niall laughs and he feels warm inside, knowing Bressie cares so much about him. “Alright, will do,” he agrees.

That’s all Bressie needs to hear, it turns out, so Niall’s happy to oblige.

That is, until he has his appointment and figures out what’s got him so poorly.

He gets home and can’t stop staring at the papers in front of him, the list of prescriptions and suggested vitamins and the photo of what’s happening and it feels like a weight on his chest, pressing the air out of him, suffocating him. Of course it was a possibility – it is with anyone, these days – but it’s still shocking, that it’s happened. He doesn’t quite know how to face it.

Bressie doesn’t call him though, bugging him for the outcome even though Niall was sure he would, and he briefly wonders if he should just send him a text message stating all is well – even if it’s not. Because Niall doesn’t want to think about what it means, that he’s okay, but doesn’t feel it.

He doesn’t want to think about what it means that he’s now pregnant, and he’s absolutely sure who the father is.

Telling Bressie feels terrifying, just the thought of it, so Niall resolves to just pocket his phone and settle in with the telly and a big bag of crisps.

It’s lonely moments like these where Niall wishes he had a pet. If he wasn’t gone all the bloody time, he’d consider it, but the poor dog would be in shelter or doggy hotels more than it’d be home. Niall thinks that life sounds rather depressing, and an awful lot like his own.

He manages to make it all the way to Wednesday before there’s someone knocking at his door. Though he’s got half a mind to ignore it, Niall clambers off the sofa and trudges to the door. He doesn’t bother checking who it is, he’s too tired to care, really, and when he opens the door he has to look up because it’s Bressie, there on his doorstep, and Niall’s not sure how to process it.

Bressie winces, like maybe Niall looks even worse than he feels, if it’s possible, and Niall ducks his face down so Bressie can’t analyze him so much. He doesn’t like that feeling, the constant critical look, just like he’d gotten from the doctors. He’d been so shocked to find that he was pregnant – he’d probably sounded like a slag when he admitted he didn’t bother with protection, and he hated it. Niall had flushed so red – it’s a moment he’s tried to erase from his memory.

But now Bressie’s here and Niall’s feeling lost and like a fool he’s already pinned the ultrasound photo on his fridge, and there’s prenatal vitamins on the counter and not a drop of alcohol anywhere in the place. Bressie’s bound to find out – Niall’s sure of it.

“You never messaged,” Bressie says as he stands awkwardly at the door, Niall not moving enough to let him in. “Can I come in?”

Niall’s scared, and he’s definitely not ready to open up about this, so he coughs once to clear his throat and says, “I was just going to go to bed. Still not feeling well, but the doctors said it’s nothing.”

He looks up again and Bressie definitely doesn’t look like he believes him, with his brow all furrowed up and his hazel eyes watching him with concern. Niall feels tiny under the look – tinier than he usually feels around Bressie, that is – and says, “Can I like… call you tomorrow or something?”

Bressie frowns, but nods. “Sure. Yeah. I’m – I’m leaving for Ireland for a bit, day after next, so… tomorrow? Please?” he says awkwardly.

Niall nods, feeling guilty at how relieved he is that they’ll be a sea away in just a few days’ time. Niall’s not ready to talk about this with anyone – he doesn’t like the thought of facing this, at all, never mind the complications once he adds someone else to the mix of people he’s got to consider. That’s far more pressure than he’s willing to take on.

He gives Bressie a ring as he promises, but only to explain in better detail that he’s okay, that nothing’s wrong, and that he already feels better. It’s not a total lie – the morning sickness only plagues him in the evening, he’s learning – but after touring the world, morning is relative, he figures. He must sound alright, back to his cheery self, because Bressie doesn’t question it and instead, just says that he’ll give him a call once he gets back to London so they can go out for a night on the town.

Niall’s already begun thinking about how he’s going to get out of that. It’ll give _everything_ away once Brez realizes he’s stopped drinking.

It’s during month number three that Niall notices a slight bump, feels it when he buttons his jeans and sees it when he analyzes his profile in the mirror.

It’s during month number four that Bressie invites him out for drinks. Niall begs off, says he’s got plans with someone else, and he manages to keep it up three weekends in a row until Bressie’s knocking at his door again. Niall’s hidden all signs of the pregnancy, as far as he can tell – he keeps the prenatal vitamins in a regular vitamin container, and he’s got the ultrasound photo tucked away in a kitchen drawer, and it looks like his flat again. Well, the flat that Bressie’s used to. Niall was getting used to the idea of a kid, looking at the ultrasounds posted up on the fridge day in and day out.

“Hi,” Niall says, confused, as he opens the door to see Bressie standing there.

He looks nice, with a plain polo shirt and some jeans, his hair styled just right. Niall hates how handsome Bressie is, how effortlessly amazing he can be. It takes effort for Niall to look even half as good, he thinks. “Hi,” Brez answers. “You don’t look ill?”

Niall flushes pink. “It’s just that I’m -- ,”

“Hey, you look great,” Bressie insists earnestly. “It was bound to happen, you know? Like, it’s probably only a couple pounds, and you’re getting to live a normal life now, with meals and decent amounts of sleep, and… you look good. Amazing.”

It takes Niall a minute, but then he realizes: Bressie just thinks he’s put on a little weight.

He should probably feel insulted, but he’s not. In fact, he’s quite pleased. Weight gain he can deal with. Weight gain happens to anyone. Nobody needs to know it’s gained because of the baby. “I just… don’t feel like going out,” Niall offers lamely. “Sorry.”

“I can’t blame you one bit,” he says kindly. It’s awkward, Bressie still outside Niall’s flat, and Niall backs up to let him in. As he enters, Bressie says, “We can have a few drinks here instead, yeah?”

“Oh,” Niall falters. “I’m out.”

Bressie’s brow furrows and he looks at Niall curiously. “You’re _out_?” It seems like such an absurd thought. “Have you been drinking alone a lot lately?” he asks with concern.

“No,” Niall insists. He feels like he’s digging himself further and further into a hole with each word he says. “I just… haven’t been getting out of here much. Now that I have no responsibilities, I sort of like keeping it that way, you know?”

“Well… how about some snacks and a film then?” Bressie offers half-heartedly, still confused. Niall knows he’s acting strange; he hopes Bressie just drops it.

“Yeah, grab whatever, I’ll queue something up,” Niall says, gesturing to the kitchen.

He’s not hungry – the baby has killed his appetite, actually – but he knows that mentioning that out loud is going to really make Bressie suspicious. Niall settles in on the sofa while Brez fumbles around for food, and once he’s got Old School queued up on Netflix, he waits.

It feels like he sits there waiting for Brez forever.

Finally Niall hears the footsteps of Bressie returning and he looks up, grinning, “There you are! Took you long enough!”

But Bressie looks shell-shocked. He’s holding a photo and Niall’s stomach drops. He feels like he’s going to be sick. Dread thrums in his ears – or maybe that’s his heartbeat – but all he knows is this wasn’t the plan, and he doesn’t want to have to talk about this, or explain it, or work it out. He still doesn’t want to face this. But Brez looks hurt and confused and he just stands there, watching Niall, holding something up in front of his chest.

It’s the ultrasound photo.

Niall sits up, his cheeks dark pink, and his mouth is agape as he tries to figure out what that look on Bressie’s face means, what’s going through his mind. “How long?” Bressie asks.

Niall’s hand drops to his stomach, to the sizable bump there, and he says softly, “Erm… nearly twenty weeks now.”

Bressie’s face doesn’t change, he just watches Niall, glances down to his belly, does the math in his head. “It’s mine, innit?” he whispers.

It’s hard for Niall to formulate any sort of coherent thought at that point. He’s feeling guilty for keeping it a secret and he’s feeling scared because this is a lot to deal with, and it’s probably twice as much for Bressie because he had no idea this was even happening.

So Niall just nods and buries his face in his hands, leant over with his elbows on his knees.

Bressie walks to him without hesitation, sits down next to him and rubs his back. It feels like the seconds crawl on; Niall wants Bresse to say something, to get angry or shout at him or wish he’d gotten rid of it, or _something_ , but he doesn’t say a word. He just rubs Niall’s back and even plants a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

It feels like an eternity before someone speaks, before Bressie asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Niall heaves a heavy breath, lets it tremble as he exhales, and he shakes his head. His fingers knot in his hair, tug at it a bit, and he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know other than – “I was – _am_ – scared.”

“Fuck,” Bressie mutters. “I’m not anything to be scared of, chief.” He wraps an arm around Niall and pulls him back on the sofa, against his chest. “You know I’d never ditch you. Not when something like this is happening.”

Niall keeps his face hidden, keeps his knees tucked up by his chest as best he can with the bump in the way, and says, “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Bressie nods. “Trust me, I know. But we could’ve been doing it together the whole time.”

“You’re not mad?” Niall asks, amazed.

“No,” Bressie shakes his head. “Was as much my fault as yours, not using a condom.”

Niall’s still nervous, keeps rubbing his hand over his stomach, but he feels the sick feeling slowly leaving his body. He doesn’t really know what to say, still doesn’t know what he wants to do, he just knows that he feels safe in Bressie’s arms.

Bressie just holds him tight and lets him work through it in his head. He rubs his back and kisses the top of his head and says, “We’ll be alright. You’ll be a brilliant father.”

Niall’s cheeks flush pink. “You will be too, Brez.”

Bressie leans back against the cushions of the couch and brings Niall with him, holding him against his chest. “A lot more makes sense now,” Bressie laughs as he reaches for the remote. He presses play and doesn’t make Niall talk about it, doesn’t try to sort it all out in that moment.

He thinks about it a lot, but Niall’s obviously trying to deal with it all in his head. He needs time to work out the fact that he’s going to be there in the long run.

Niall falls into a deep sleep against Bressie’s chest, and after that night they’re nearly inseparable. They sort out the guest room in Niall’s flat, making it into a little nursery with everything they’ll need for a newborn.

When Louis visits a few weeks later, Bressie lets them have some time to hang out, just the two of them. Louis will be the first person Niall tells, and if he’s nervous, that’s nothing compared to how he feels when he’s holding Louis’s newborn son. Niall hadn’t known he was bringing Thomas, had thought he’d be with Briana that weekend, but he’d been wrong.

And now Thomas is crying in Niall’s arms whilst Louis makes a bottle in Niall’s kitchen, but it’s not working – he can’t get him to stop. No matter how much he hums to him or rocks him or pats his bum, Thomas never stops crying.

Louis returns as quickly as he can, and he scoops him back into his arms. “Shh, Tommy, it’s alright, love,” he coos as he puts the bottle to his mouth.

Thomas greedily starts sucking, his cries finally ceased. Niall’s sitting down and looking worried, his brow furrowed and a hand lazily dropped to his stomach. Louis doesn’t know yet, and now Niall’s not feeling ready to tell, because he’s not feeling ready to be a dad. He couldn’t even get Tommy to stop crying.

“He was just hungry,” Louis offers. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, Nialler.” Niall’s quiet, doesn’t meet Louis’s gaze. Louis notices that something’s wrong, and he asks, “Niall? What’s going on?”

He hates how sick he feels every time the words threaten to come out of his mouth. In a new nervous habit, Niall starts to run his hand over his growing baby bump, and Louis gets it without words. “Oh.”

Niall looks over sharply and their eyes lock, and Louis looks concerned. “Whose is it?”

“Mine,” Niall says quickly. Louis smiles and rolls his eyes, and Niall can’t help but do the same. “Alright, fine,” he concedes. “Bressie’s.”

That puts a big grin on Louis’s face for reasons Niall doesn’t know. “How far along are you?” he asks.

“I’m… twenty-four weeks,” Niall replies.

Louis grins wider. “The baby’s got Bressie’s genes then, for sure,” he says. “That’s quite the bump you’ve got for only twenty-four weeks.”

Niall closes his eyes tight and says, “Don’t remind me. That’s what the doctor’s been telling me, too.”

Louis snorts as he laughs, and Niall feels relaxed again, glad that he’s gotten this out of the way. He’s still nervous, of course, but Louis is taking this so easily that it’s hard for Niall to feel anxious in that moment. “Have you told the rest of them yet?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Niall replies. “I dunno how to really bring it up, you know?”

Louis nods. “You’ve got to just say it,” he says. “Not really any other way to do it, is there?”

Niall sighs heavily. He knows Louis’s got a point, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like having to face this when he’s still sort of processing it himself – with Bressie and Louis along for the ride, now.

He ends up telling them all over lunch, the first time all five of them have been in the same place since Zayn left the band. It feels weird, coming together and sharing news like this; Niall never thought it would be him, having kids so soon, but he figures at least he’s not first, at least Louis has sort of set the path of being “grown up” musicians so it’s not so weird for someone in the band to be parent.

Louis loves it, being a dad, and seeing him with Thomas has been helping Niall get used to the idea of being a parent. They spend a lot of time together now that Louis knows, and Niall’s getting good practice with babies. He didn’t exactly spend much time with infant Theo, so he could use a little extra help.

Bressie’s gone on some book signings and a small tour to play some of his music for others, and that leaves Niall home alone for most of it. Bressie’s only supposed to be gone for six weeks, anyway, and Niall keeps him updated on stuff whilst he’s on the road, so it’s alright. Everything seems to be working out.

Niall’s belly progressively grows until he’s moving around slower than usual, his whole body aching. He eats chili cheese chips – a snack he’d grown to love when they were touring America – like they’re going out of style. It’s awful for the baby, he knows, but the food is so good and he’s gotten really good at making big batches of cheese sauce and chili so he can just pop the chips in the oven and eat not long after the craving hits.

There’s not actually much concern, according to the doctor. The baby’s growing well – fast, and into a very large baby – but it’s healthy so there’s not much else Niall could really ask for.

When he’s at week thirty, his back starts to ache like mad. Bressie’s only got one more week out on the road, so Niall just settles for a lot of warm baths after long days of cleaning up or doing laundry or doing some songwriting (mostly lyrics, because he can’t quite reach his guitar anymore). It soothes his muscles but doesn’t take the full ache away – nothing will, at this point. Of that, he’s sure.

When Bressie returns, he starts doing everything for Niall. He makes him food, eats piles of chili cheese chips to make Niall feel less weird about it, and has even massaged his feet a time or two. But Niall’s still aching and he’s taking the highest dosage he possibly can of pain medication.

At his thirty-two week appointment, Niall is told that he can have more pain medication, but should move less. Partial bed rest, they called it. Bressie grins because he loves being able to spoil Niall, but Niall frowns because he’s getting restless. He never goes anywhere because he doesn’t want the pregnancy getting into the media – he’s not ready for unflattering pap shots of him in baggy clothes with chubby limbs and cheeks. He just doesn’t want that, isn’t secure enough to see those sorts of photos floating around the internet for the rest of his life.

So, he sits around a lot. He bakes for fun and has taken up reading when he’s bored, but he ends up having to get up and move around to keep from going insane.

It only takes nine days for his knee to start giving him trouble again. Bressie helps Niall limp around, because most of the time Niall petulantly protests to being carried around even though Bressie’s perfectly capable, and the whole situation puts Niall in a poor mood.

He’s shaken from it only once, when Bressie asks him about baby names. They decide they want the name to be Irish, and they want it to have traditional Gaelic spelling if there are different spellings of the name, and they’ve decided to wait until the baby’s out to know if they’ve got a baby boy or a baby girl. That whole evening, Niall lays on the sofa leaning against Bressie, head on his shoulder, their hands linked between them, Bressie’s thumb rubbing comforting circles into Niall’s pale skin.

By week thirty-six, Niall’s put on full bed rest and that puts him in an exceptionally foul mood. His belly is huge and Louis has reminded him every visit he makes. Niall hates it, feels like he’s about to burst. He doesn’t even know how on earth the skin that used to lie flat against his belly has now stretched to accommodate such a big baby.

It takes only fourteen hours of bed rest, most of which was spent napping, for Niall to decide he just wants to have this baby, to move onto the next part of parenthood because pregnancy is tedious and painful and he’s not really enjoying it anymore.

He sleeps all the time now, and feels like he’s eating constantly even though he’s not, until finally – _thankfully_ – he wakes up at the crack of dawn with pain shooting through his belly. He’s lying in a wet spot on the bed  and this is it – it’s time.

With a big groan, Niall rolls himself over and jostles Bressie. They’d only started sharing the bed once Niall got close to going into labor; they’ve never even talked about the whole dating thing or how they’re going to raise this kid together, but it feels an awful lot like Bressie’s moving in. “Wake up,” he grumbles, nearly shoving Bressie out of the bed to wake him.

When he looks over at Niall, alarmed at having been stirred from such a peaceful sleep, he asks, “Whatsit?”

“Time to go,” Niall mumbles. He closes his eyes, wincing in pain, and rolls onto his back. “Get ready and lets go.”

That’s got Bressie jumping out of bed, leaping quickly and rushing around to gather things together. He gets dressed, brushes his teeth (which Niall doesn’t really care about, but he’s content to just keep laying there, not moving), and then there’s a loud, startled shout.

“Everything okay?” Niall asks, tilting his head just the slightest to try to look into the bathroom.

“Bloody hell --,” Bressie grumbles as he leaves the bathroom, rubbing his eye. “Got deodorant in me fecking eye.”

Niall laughs at that – proper laughs until he’s nearly crying – and he feels better for just a brief moment. He gives his parents a call on the drive to hospital, thankful that Bressie’s there and he didn’t have to wait around for someone to drive across London to get him. By the time they’re trudging through the front doors, Niall’s in a lot more pain now, and he’s fairly certain Bressie’s holding up most of his weight for him.

He’s put in a wheelchair right away and brought to the maternity ward, where he’s told Bressie will meet him. Niall closes his eyes and suddenly misses the big, comforting hand holding his own smaller one so much more now that he’s not there. The fear is kicking in, as is the worry, and he doesn’t really know how this is all going to go. It’s not the surgery part – been there, done that, he’s said – it’s the being a parent part. The fact that twenty-four hours from now he’s going to be holding a little version of himself mixed with Bressie and he doesn’t know how to process that.

Niall lays in bed whilst they wait for the doctors, knowing full well that he’s about to be sliced open and made a father. It’s gruesome, thinking of it that way, but it’s not exactly inaccurate, or anything.

Bressie meets up with Niall once he’s changed and tucked into bed and hooked up to a few machines, and it’s alright. He’s content like this, letting waves of pain pass. It doesn’t seem all that bad after years of dealing with his dodgy knee. The pain medicine helps a lot.

When it’s time, Niall’s ready to have it all done and over with. He’s happy as they wheel him to operation, as they put up the little cloth wall so he can’t see where they do the C-section. Bressie sits at his side in blue disposable scrubs, and this is it – Niall feels ready. For the birth, not the parenting, but one step at a time.

He feels pressure on his stomach, closes his eyes and feels a little nauseated at all the tugging he feels even through the anesthetic. But then there’s the sound of a baby crying and he forgets how grossed out he was just feeling because the joy of hearing their baby cry is too much. It’s more than he was prepared for, and his eyes start to mist with happiness as he watches the squirming legs and hears the crying quiet as they clean up the baby.

“It’s a girl, chief,” Bressie grins before leaning in for a kiss. He looks from Niall and then back up at the baby, and he says, “She’s healthy and so beautiful.”

“A big one, too,” the nurse says as she lowers the baby, swaddled and placated, into Bressie’s arms. “Nine pounds, ten ounces.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Niall says, laughing and crying all at once. “Let me see her, Brez.”

Bressie tips her so she’s facing Niall, since he’s not allowed to hold her until he’s all patched up, and he reaches up to rub his thumb over her cheek. She’s still got her eyes squished shut and she looks a little bit like an alien, but she’s perfect and Niall’s glad this moment is finally here. He’d been terrified when first learning he was pregnant, but now – Bressie’s folded himself into Niall’s life already and now they’ve got a _daughter_ and it feels so crazy, knowing that this little girl is theirs for the rest of forever.

He’s impatient now, eager to get patched up and brought to his room so he can hold her, and after politely declining three different nurses’ attempts to teach him the proper methods of breastfeeding, he finally gets to hold her. For being such a big baby, compared to most, she feels lightweight and fragile in his arms. She’s fussing now, clearly hungry, and Niall tries to hush her as he waits for her food. Bressie hands him a bottle – Niall was just too uncomfortable about breastfeeding to do it, no matter how common it was for men to do it now – and he puts it to her lips.

She sucks happily, glad to have some nourishment, and Niall watches her in awe. Bressie sits at the side of his bed and watches both of them before he asks softly, “D’you know what you want to name her yet?”

Niall looks over at Bressie, and Brez thinks he’s never seen such a handsome man before. Sure, Niall looks a bit pale and he’s clearly exhausted, but even with his soft tousled hair and bags under his eyes, he’s gorgeous. “We picked a few,” Niall reminds him.

“I know,” Bressie nods. “Which fits her best?”

It’s quiet in the room as Niall studies her, their little daughter, and he smiles. “I like Saoirse a lot,” he whispers. “I think it suits her.”

Bressie nods. “Yeah… it does,” he agrees. “Saoirse Nell Horan.”

“Breslin,” Niall argues.

Brez laughs and shakes his head. This is the only part they couldn’t agree on. Niall softens his voice and looks at Bressie as he says, “Breslin. Please. Me family’s fine, Theo’s carrying on the name, and like… yours is a little less recognizable, you know?” He looks into Bressie’s eyes and says, “Saoirse Breslin sounds better, anyway.”

As much as he wants to fight it, he gets it, really. Bressie nods and leans in to press a kiss to Niall’s lips. “Okay, chief,” he agrees. “Whatever you want. I’m good either way.”

Niall’s relieved, and Bressie presses their foreheads together as they smile. Softly, Niall whispers, “Thanks.”

Bressie doesn’t reply, but instead leans back so he can watch Niall feed Saoirse, that happy, satisfied look still on his face.

They feel like a family, and he’s never been happier. If the look on Niall’s face is any indication, the feeling is mutual, and Bressie can’t wait to start their new adventure together.


End file.
